Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Apprentice
by Cyler Fharzhide
Summary: In the aftermath of the Triwizard Tournament, Harry Potter struggles with several strange experiences. Even by his standards.
1. Prologue

Um. Disclaimer. It's disclaiming. Woo.

**Prologue**

It was a cheery, sunny afternoon the day everything ended, and it had no business being so. One would expect it to be miserably cloudy and gray, rain drizzling down on everyone and generally magnifying the misery of it all.

Young Raïk Callahan would have expected it to be so. But, like so many of his expectations in life, this was proven not to be so. What a lovely couple of days.

Raïk usually enjoyed Halloween. That may have been because of the tradition of small children dressing up as witches and mummies and zombies. He'd always get an extra bit of enjoyment out of their innocent misconceptions. Because Raïk knew. He knew what magic-users were really like.

Not that he was too happy about that at the moment.

He stood, in the irrtatingly bright, happy sunshine, staring down a country lane at the ruined hulk of what used to be a cheerful home. However briefly.

"You know there was nothing you could have done."

The voice was deep, resonant, and Raïk was, on any given day, alternately soothed and cowed by it. Today, it just made him want to break things.

"Do I?" Raïk asked, his voice mocking. "Because it seems to me like _I wasn't there_. So how could I know if a difference could have been made?" He turned to face the owner of the voice, an old man, his close-cropped hair and beared stark white. The man was dressed rather smartly, in a clean, crisp black suit, brown coat and accompanying black gloves. Raïk briefly entertained thoughts of flinging mud at him and his annoyingly immaculate clothes.

"You're right. I apologize." The old man's stern gaze and sharp tones contradicted the words he spoke. "There would have indeed been a difference. You would be dead, along with the Potters."

Raïk snorted in derision, and turned back to the remains of James and Lily Potter's cottage in Godric's Hollow. "At least I would have done _something_. Which is more than can be said of _you._"

"My responsibilities begin and end with you." The old man moved forward and stood at Raïk's side. "You are my apprentice. I am your master."

The young man's voice rose sharply. "Who needs to be your apprentice!?" He spund and fixed his master with a heated glare. "You left two good people to die. _You_ could have stood up to that- that _creature_! I've _seen_ the power you hold at your very _fingertips_!"

"Raïk, my dear boy... I thought you had changed. I thought you had learned." The master closed his eyes, his heart heavy. "I fear you have not learned anything I have tried to teach you."

Raïk scowled and turned. "I don't want to learn anything from someone who abandons people who need help."

The master watched as his apprentice began to walk away. "Raïk, if you abandon your training now, there will be naught but hardship in your future."

The young man didn't pause or turn. "I'll take my chances. I'll be better off than I would be with _you_."

The old man watched, silent, as his apprentice walked up the lane, and then simply vanished. He then sighed, and turned his gaze back to the ruined cottage. "You're a fool." He gazed for a period of time longer, then spoke again, his voice quiet. "Perhaps even _I_ have not learned."

A moment later, the lane was devoid of life.

* * *

Hm. Well, here's the prologue. It's short, which is kind of how I like prologues. And I do like me some prologues. Dunno why. They're just fun. Anyway. Kind of depressing. Especially since I've put this into the 'Humor' category. But hey, any story that starts off with two young parents getting murdered has got to be kind of depressing, right? But it gets funnier, I swear. Really.

Well, this is my new start. As you can see, the actual point of deviation is now well into the past, though everything up to the end of Harry's fourth year remains the same. Also, I kind of hope to avoid all of the obvious Raïk-the-meddler stuff that I ended up having in the previous incarnation... Well, we'll see how it turns out.

Keep an eye out for next time.


	2. Chapter 1

Yeah, no clever jokes about a disclaimer. It's just disclaimed. Though, a brief note here: sometimes you will see some text in italics under the chapter. _Sometimes_. If you do, it's a song title, and maybe it'll have some lyrics. In either case, that means that particular song is good for the chapter. (Which pretty much means that song either helped inspire the chapter, or just fits well. Actually, this whole idea was inspired by one song in particular, but we won't get to that part for a while, sorry.) And no, there's not one for this particular chapter.

Oh. This begins similarly to OotP. _SIMILAR._ As in "not identical". This is the bit where the Order will be. ANYWAY. Here we go.

**Chapter 1**

Harry Potter was not having a good summer. Why should he? He was stuck at his relatives' house. He would much rather be at school. That would generally be considered unusual for teenagers. But Harry could most certainly be considered unusual.

Harry was a wizard. He attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy. And he would much rather be there, or just about anywhere other than where he was right now.

Cooped up in his relatives' house, for they could not truly be considered family, was tantamount to torture to Harry. Because his relatives, his mother's sister, her husband and their rather large son, hated anything and everything that didn't fit in with their definition of "normal". Which, unfortunately, Harry fit into. Rather squarely.

Moreover, Harry's summer was doomed from the start. At the end of the previous school year, after having participated as the fourth champion in the Triwizard Tournament, Harry bore witness to the rebirth of the greatest evil the wizarding world had seen in generations: the Dark Lord, Voldemort. Harry had suffered torture at the hands of Voldemort and his loyal followers, the Death Eaters. Cedric Diggory, the other Hogwarts champion, could not be considered as lucky, having lost his life.

Since then, Harry had spent his days trying to find out about any unusual mishaps on the Muggle news, and his nights staring at his ceiling, trying not to remember that night in the graveyard.

But right now, Harry currently found himself meandering aimlessly through Little Whinging, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, shuffling his feet, his shoulders slumped, feeling defeated. He'd been attempting to contact his friends for nearly a week now, and never managed to get much more than a note telling him everything would be fine soon. Harry kicked viciously at the sidewalk as he remembered this. A young mother looked at him oddly, and hustled her son past Harry. This was when Harry noticed he had ended up near the park; he stopped and stared dumbly at the swings and slide, the seesaws.

The chains of the swing set creaked as Harry dropped himself into one, heaving a sigh.

Harry was not sure how long he'd been sitting on the swing, staring at the sawdust beneath him, before he began to get the feeling like he was being watched. His head shot up, and he noticed the sun was well on its way below the horizon; it was nearly dark.

He leaped to his feet, the chains clanking behind him, and shoved his hand in his pocket, clenching his fingers around his wand. He turned on the spot, his head swiveling, his eyes darting from left to right, looking for the source of the strange feeling. "Dobby...?" he whispered. There was no reply.

Harry began walking back to his aunt and uncle's house on Privet Drive, his wand held at his side, continuing to scan from side to side. He hadn't even gotten far from the park when he saw there was a man standing on the sidewalk directly under a street lamp, calmly, in the center of the cone of light. Harry came to a halt; he raised his wand slightly.

The man was wearing a long coat, and had a hood pulled over his head. The light of the street lamp cast heavy shadows over his face, concealing it completely, but Harry had the distinct impression the man was watching him, and he was amused.

The young wizard heard a sound that could have been footsteps behind him, and he instinctively glanced over his shoulder. He saw nothing, and when he turned back, he saw a lot more of it. The man was gone.

Then there was several loud _cracks_ and Harry knew he had a problem. He dove forward, scraping his hands and elbows painfully on the pavement, barely managing to avoid several jets of red light that passed through the space he had just occupied. He scrambled to his feet and ran, risking a glance over his shoulder as he did.

Several men in black cloaks, their hoods drawn, their faces covered in white masks, had appeared out of nowhere and were training their wands on Harry. He knew he only had moments before they began casting again.

_Death Eaters..._ he thought as he sprinted down the street. _That's just wonderful._

He heard someone yell "_STUPEFY!_" behind him and reacted without thinking; he dove over a hedge, tumbling painfully through someone's lawn, somehow managed to get to his feet, and kept running.

"_Avada Ked--"_

"What are you doing!?" one of the Death Eaters demanded. "Get in front of him! Surround him! But don't kill him, you fool!"

_Hell..._ Harry thought. _That's a cheery thought._ He didn't know how long he could keep this up. Maybe he should have just stayed at his relatives' house. Wasn't he supposed to be safe here? All he could do was keep running, and hope he made it to safety.

He knew they had to be right on his tail. Soon, they'd get in front of him. Maybe they'd start herding him somewhere. He needed to do something. Quickly. But he couldn't think of anything.

He barreled around a corner onto Privet Drive, running full tilt towards Number Four, but he saw that the man he'd seen on the street earlier was already there, waiting. He was too late; they'd been herding him, they'd set an ambush for him.

Harry raised his wand and pointed it at the man, running full speed, an encantation on his lips, when he saw a flash of blue under the hood. Harry's eye's widened. The man wasn't looking at him.

Again acting on instinct, Harry spun and did a sort of high jump into his neighbor's yard, just at the same moment the man thrust his right arm forward.

Later, Harry would wonder what exactly had happened. He followed the path of the man's arm, saw two Death Eaters who had been right on his tail, saw _something_ -- it wasn't a spell, it _couldn't_ be -- and then suddenly the Death Eaters were soaring backwards with cries of surprise. Then Harry hit the grass, and the wind was knocked out of him.

Harry struggled to sit up and goggled out at was probably one of the oddest things he'd ever seen. The mysterious hooded man and what was left of the Death Eaters had ended up in the middle of the street, and were apparently dueling. The man was spinning, ducking, lunging, and striking out with his hands and feet. The Death Eaters were circling and darting in, screaming spells at him. And each time the man struck, Harry saw that same _something_, and a Death Eater went soaring to crash into the pavement.

"It's him!" a Death Eater cried, another swore loudly. And then suddenly, with several loud _cracks_, the street was deserted, except for the man. He stood serenely, and clasped his hands together. Harry watched in confusion as he bowed at the waist and stood. With a sigh, the man stood straight, then turned and walked directly towards Harry.

Harry scooted backwards across the lawn, his wand, he was surprised to notice, still pointing at the strange wizard. For he had to be, somehow.

The man stopped, and Harry got that same feeling of amusement from him. He raised one arm, Harry's wand arm tensed, but the man just made a shooing motion towards Harry's aunt's house. Harry stared blankly at him for a moment. "Who are you?" he demanded.

The man raised his finger to his lips, then vanished.

Harry leaped to his feet, turning wildly, looking for any trace, but the street was devoid of life. He heard an owl hoot, and seemed to break out of his trance. He turned and bolted for the door to Number Four.

He slammed the door shut behind him, and slumped against it. Almost immediately he heard his uncle Vernon scream "Boy! What is the meaning of this racket?"

Harry sighed. At least he was safe from wizards.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Harry sat on his bed with his back against the wall, arms resting on raised knees, lazily twirling his wand in his fingers. His uncle had locked him in his room after he'd returned. Not that Harry wasn't used to such treatment. It really came to the point when he hardly noticed, even when he wasn't preoccupied with thoughts of barely escaping Death Eaters with his hide intact.

On top of that, when Harry returned to his room he was disappointed, even disturbed, to discover that Hedwig was not in her cage. His first thought, after brushing past his angrily sputtering uncle, was to send note to anyone and everyone he knew in the wizarding world. Something wasn't right. For nearly a month since the night in the graveyard there had been only silence from Voldemort and his followers, and now all of a sudden Death Eaters turn up in Little Whinging, very nearly on Harry's own doorstep, the one place Harry was supposed to be absolutely safe.

He was debating with himself about possibly taking the risk to use the Dursleys' telephone, when it occurred to him that the house was very quiet. Far too quiet. He couldn't hear any television, any voices, nothing at all. He glanced at his clock; only just after eight-thirty.

Thinking quickly, he reached over and shut out his bedside lamp. Then, holding his wand tightly, he slid out of bed and sidled up against the wall alongside the window, peering out into the evening. He thought he could detect movement, but wasn't sure if there was actually someone, or something, out there or if it was just a product of his paranoia.

Not quite convinced, but satisfied for the moment that the window was as secure as he could hope, he turned his attention to the door. As his eyes came to rest on the doorknob, he heard it rattle. He braced himself against the wall and raised his wand.

He heard something, and convinced himself it was a muffled footstep. With a click, the door swung open revealing a silhouette in the hall. Harry brandished his wand at it, not sure what else he should do.

"Good," he heard an amused voice. "You're prepared."

Harry was slightly confused by this. "You're... who _are_ you?"

The hooded man that fought of the Death Eaters earlier that night took a step into the room, but paused when Harry again brandished his wand at him. He raised his hands in a peaceful gesture, and moved to lower his hood. Cleared from the shadows, the man's clear blue eyes sparkled. He seemed more amused than anything else that there was a wand pointed directly at his face. "My name is Raïk Callahan, and I'm here to escort you."

Harry stared blankly at Raïk. Raïk gazed right back at Harry with none too little amusement. It was during this moment of mutual staring that Harry realized this man was not English. "You're who and you're going to what?"

Raïk's smile widened. "I'm Raïk Callahan. I'm here to get you the hell out of this dump."

"Where? Where are you taking me?"

"Can we walk and talk?" the man said, turning and gesturing at the door. "I'm kind of on a tight schedule here."

"Answer the question!"

Raïk sighed and shook his head. "I've got to take you somewhere safe. This area is compromised."

"How? Professor Dumbledore said-"

"Again, and I can't stress this point enough, I'm in something of a hurry. So can we _please_ discuss this as we walk, or do I have to subdue you first?"

Harry hesitated. This was a man who had fought of a number of Death Eaters with little trouble, so what chance would Harry have against him? "Dumbledore will be there?"

"At some point, yes, the Old Man will be there," Raïk said impatiently, looking at his watch. "Can we go now?"

After getting Harry's things, which involved a brief bit of scrambling around trying to find everything he needed, and shrinking them, Harry and Raïk left the peculiarly silent house. When Harry inquired about this curious fact, Raïk smiled at him and told him he'd charmed the Dursleys into believing it would be a very pleasant idea to go out for the evening as a family and leave the nasty little unnatural boy behind.

"It took surprisingly little effort, too," he told Harry. "Almost as if they'd already been considering that very thing."

They walked for some time, during which Raïk was mostly silent, which was alright because Harry had mostly forgotten everything he wanted to ask about. Harry's older companion spent a fair portion of the time they spent walking turning his head back and forth, giving the impression he was looking for something.

When they finally reached what was apparently their destination, an alley a mile or two from Number Four, Raïk stopped walking, but began instead to alternate between looking at his watch, and looking around. As if he was waiting for someone.

"Come on," he muttered. "Where is she?"

"Er, sorry, but.... she who?"

"Hm?" Raïk glanced at Harry. "Oh, a friend of mine."

Right then, a brown cat trotted around the corner and headed towards them. "Good Lord, Lira, take your time why don't you!"

_...Right, we're waiting for the cat. Of course._

The cat leaped at Raïk, who caught it in his arms. "Right, Harry, come over here." He held his right arm out. "Hang on. And I do mean hang on. Tightly."

Harry nervously took hold of the proffered arm.

"Also, I would advise taking a deep breath. And close your eyes if you think its necessary. This will be intense."

Raïk then crouched down, but before Harry could even start to wonder what he was doing, he pumped his legs, and suddenly they were gone.

Harry, were his brain capable of proper function at that time, would probably have wondered if that was what a missile felt like. But, for the most part, he couldn't comprehend anything other than the sound of the air rushing past his head, or the sight of the English countryside flashing beneath him at several hundred kilometers per minute.

Harry was vaguely aware of the skyline of London approaching, but it didn't really hit him, until _he_ hit _it._

He and Raïk hit the pavement in a seedy looking part of town with what had to have been a resounding crash, even if Harry couldn't hear it. They rebounded, flew another twenty or thirty meters before coming back down, and skidding to a halt.

Harry's legs gave out, and he collapsed on his backside, giving him a perfect view of a completely composed Raïk repairing a crater up the street by aiming his hand at it.

Harry stared at the man as he walked back over. "You alright?" he asked. Harry continued to stare. Raïk stared at Harry. The cat, Lira, stared at Harry. Harry stared at Raïk. After a moment he decided to change it up and stare at Lira. Then he got bored of that and went back to staring at Raïk. Raïk continued to stare at Harry.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Thought so," Raïk said. "Here, read this. Memorize it."

Harry took the piece of paper he offered with shaking hands. He looked at it, and saw loopy handwriting on it. _The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix lies at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place._

"Er.."

"Got it?"

"Yes?" Harry started when the paper in his hands burst into flames. He dropped it in surprise. He looked up at Raïk, who was offering him his hand. Harry took it and got to his feet.

Then, as Harry watched, Number Eleven and Number Thirteen (which Harry had first taken as a curious error, those two right next to each other) began to slide apart, and another, Number Twelve, sprung out of nothing to take the space.

Harry looked at the door, then back at Raïk. The man nodded his head towards the building. "Go on."

Harry took a deep breath and stepped forward to open the door. Inside, it was dark, lit only by a few oil lamps, and it seemed very dirty. He dimly registered the sound of Raïk stepping in behind him and shutting the door.

_What is this place...?_

"Harry!"


End file.
